A Games Unlike Any Other
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: The First Quarter Quell changes all the rules. Normally the districts are anguished at losing their children; this year, they are happy to see the tributes go.
1. Reaping Day

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 _(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with HUNGER GAMES. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

"And when I die, no man will pity me."

Shakespeare, Richard III

Chapter 1 Reaping Day

It was Reaping Day, and for once the crowd in District 7 was cheerful. Ordinarily they'd be terrified, that one of their children was going to be sent to the Hunger Games and near-certain death. But this year the choice had already been made. Diana Farmer, the girl-tribute-to-be, was already at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Justice Hall's platform, her hands uncomfortably chained behind her back.

"Ladies first!" cried the Escort from the stage. She walked to the Girl's Reaping Bowl . It was merely a formality, because there was only one name in the bowl. "Diana Farmer!"

The crowd cheered. Even the few that booed were expressing hostility to Diana, not toward the Capitol. Peacekeepers grabbed her arms on either side and forced her up the stairs. Diana actually found that a relief; if she were to lose her footing, without being able to use her arms, she could fall and break her nose or worse. On the top, they forced her to face the crowd that was cheering her fate.

"And now for the boys!" chanted the Escort. It was equally a formality: she took out the one slip of paper in the bowl and read out "Bruce Wallenston!"

The crowd cheered even more at this. A few seconds later she could see Bruce's face as he reached the top of his own stairs. It was full of anger, not fear. Diana trembled. Though she had been cut off from most news during the last few weeks in jail, she had heard Peacekeepers talk about how "the Wallenston boy" had tried to rape a girl. And until the Games started, Diana would be the girl most easily within reach. But for the moment he was restrained just as she was.

"Now, traditionally, I'd ask you two to shake hands, but that's rather impossible at the moment, right?" asked the Escort.

The crowd thought this was hilarious.

"Take them to the Rooms of Farewell," the mayor told the Peacekeepers.

"Farewell, Bruce!" called a sarcastic voice from the crowd.

"Fare painfully!" called somebody else.

"Good-bye, and don't come back, Diana."

It was almost a relief when the heavy doors closed behind her, and she could no longer hear the crowd. With a chill she realized that, if she lost in the Games, she would never have to worry with the crowd again. She would be dead. If she won – she couldn't think that far ahead.

They took her into the girl's Room of Farewell. It was luxuriously furnished. She had heard that the mayor had had it decorated this way so that a tribute's last memory of District 7 would be a pleasant one. Of course the mayor had not had this year's rules in mind.

"Can you free my hands?" she asked one of the Peacekeepers.

"Not permitted," he said curtly. "You'll stay in restraints until the train starts and we know that you can't get away."

Another Peacekeeper entered. "They decided to allow just one visitor. The potential visitors argued it out and decided who would go. She's ready."

Diana hoped that it would be a friend from the Community Home. Instead it was a girl she had never seen before. One of her arms was in a sling and she was holding the other stiffly.

"I ought to beat you up," said the stranger. "Can't fight back with your hands chained, can you? But I don't want to get in trouble with the Peacekeepers again, and I can't use my arms that well. Besides, you're probably going to die soon anyway."

"Who are you?"

"Name's Agatha Katelin. I was the one they arrested in mistake for you. I told them I was innocent, but they tried to make me confess. Tied me to a torture device called the strappado. You can see what it did to my arms. Fortunately they'll heal. When they realized they had the wrong girl, the government paid for some treatment.."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Didn't you realize that when you hid away, they might blame somebody else for your crime and make her suffer? You're SORRY?"

"I wish I could make it up to you."

"Die in the Games. Then I'll feel better about it. I'm the one who nominated you for the reaping and persuaded people to vote for you."

The Farewell ritual was supposed to be a sentimental thing, a last-minute meeting with the tribute's loved ones. Not surprisingly, that tradition was different this year as well.

The door opened, and a Peacekeeper stuck his head in. "Time's up."

"Fine," said Katelin. "Have a painful Hunger Games, Farmer, and may the odds be never in your favor."

She left, and other Peacekeepers arrived. "Come with us, Farmer."

They took her out a rear door of the Justice Hall, and took her to a car, which drove to the train station. She didn't even try to get away. All the Peacekeepers would have to do is ask "did you see a girl run by in handcuffs?" and everybody in the district would be willing to help recapture her. The Peacekeepers hated her because of her original crime; Agatha's sympathizers blamed her for Agatha being tortured, and Diana's own gang hated her because they had all received agonizing whippings while Diana was kept in reserve for the Hunger Games. She probably did not have a single friend left in the District.

She didn't know where Wallenston was. Maybe he tried to escape and got shot, and she wouldn't have to deal with him.

They took her into a train car with a luxury banquet laid out. It did not lift her spirits. She was leaving a District where she was hated, to go to a Capitol where people would find it fun to watch her fight to the death.

TO BE CONTINUED.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE: "A Games" is not a grammatical error. I've noticed that Hunger Games is always in the plural even when there's only one, um, Games.)


	2. In Progress

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 2 In Progress**

The train started with a violent jerk that nearly knocked her out of her chair. Magnetic-levitation trains was new technology and apparently the bugs were not completely out of the system. But once started, the ride was amazingly smooth. Diana debated whether to look out the window at what might be her last sight of District 7. She decided that she did not care. The District had voted her Public Enemy #1 out of all possible adolescent girls; what did she care for it?

After about 5 minutes a door slid open, admitting a well-dressed woman and a Peacekeeper. The woman walked in front of Diana and stared down as if examining a specimen.

"My name is Teresia Trinket. I'm from the Capitol, and I've been appointed your mentor, since your District has no victors as yet. You know what a mentor is?"

"You're supposed to help me win the Games."

"Exactly. So your survival depends on keeping my goodwill, understand?"

"Yes, Ms Trinket."

"Good. Officer, I think it's safe to free her hands."

The Peacekeeper removed her handcuffs. Diana rubbed her arms gingerly.

Ms. Trinket sat opposite Diana. "Let me explain my dilemma, Farmer. The District doesn't care if either of you come back, but they would like the perks that come with having a victor, so I need to help one of you win. At some point, I may have to decide which of you two to support. So I want to know something about you. In particularly, how you got yourself so hated."

"Where's Wallenston?"

"Another car. We're focussing on YOU at the moment."

Suddenly Diana felt a genuine urge to tell her story. Nobody else so far had been interested in her side of the whole affair.

"My name is Diana Farmer. My parents were both killed ten years ago, when a Peacekeeper named Bonnie Porter ordered a massacre of citizens during what they called the Wald Rebellion."

"Were they rebels?"

"I think my parents were innocent. Just the wrong place at the wrong time. But I was only five years old, they didn't tell me much."

"Go on."

"I've spent the last ten years in the Community Home. Or at least under the control of the Home. Sometimes they farm us out to do menial chores for the lumber industry. The Home gets most of the money. We get 'work skills'."

"Most of the time, I just tried to stay out of trouble. But a month ago, I heard that they were putting up a statue to Porter, "the hero of the Wald Rebellion", as if there's something heroic about shooting unarmed people. I was furious, and so were a number of other girls at the Home. They got in the home the same way I did, losing their parents in the massacre. We formed a sort of gang."

"The lumber industry sometimes used horses to drag logs where there were no roads. One of my gang members, Lizzie, had a job shovelling up the, um, dung in the stables." Lizzie had used a ruder word, but Diana didn't want to shock a fastidious Capitol woman by repeating it. "One night the gang sneaked over to the stables. Lizzie showed us where the manure pile was, so we loaded some of the dung on a cart and drove it to the square. We dumped it all on the statue."

"The government was furious, but nobody had spotted us. Some other girl who had criticized the statue was taken into custody, but we didn't think they'd do anything to her without evidence. I didn't know at the time that the Peacekeepers were torturing her. Then some other girls were arrested, and one of them was a stable girl that Lizzie respected. She didn't want her friend to get in trouble, so she went to the authorities and confessed. Tried to keep the rest of the gang out of it, but the Peacekeepers figured it out and we were all arrested and imprisoned in the Justice Hall cellar."

"The punishment was brutal. One by one my friends were stripped to the waist and dragged out to the whipping post in the square to be flogged in public. They wouldn't even let my friends cover their breasts as they usually do when they whip girls. They seemed to be leaving me for last because I was the ringleader. But then this matter of the Quarter Quell came up."

"Each of the Districts was to choose a boy and girl to be sent to the 25th Games, " observed Ms. Trinket.

"I don't know just how the voting worked, but somehow I was chosen as the girl," said Farmer. "Even Lizzie was denouncing me. Thought I had made some deal with the Peacekeepers to escape being whipped as the others were."

Diana fell silent as a sudden new stream of thoughts occurred to her..

"Maybe I DESERVED to be chosen!"

"What?"

"I felt sorry myself because my arms were bound for a couple of hours. But it was Agatha who was really hurt, and she was completely innocent. My fault. And apparently a lot of people agreed with her in blaming me, because she persuaded them to vote me into the Hunger Games."

"I can't judge this business of defacing the status," said Ms. Trinket. "I'm not from this District. But what happened to the Agatha girl was NOT your fault. It was the Peacekeepers', You don't obtain Justice by punishing the innocent. And having learned that they had the wrong girl, they apparently denied any responsibility for the wrong. Instead they diverted the popular outrage onto YOU. Easier to blame an isolated scapegoat than a powerful government institution."

Diana couldn't follow Ms. Trinket's moral reasoning in its entirety, but it was a vast relief to find somebody who didn't automatically wish her dead. "Then you'll help me in the Games?"

"I can't promise that yet. I need to talk to Mr. Wallenston and get his story." She arose and indicated the food. "While I'm talking to him, you'd better eat. I don't know what they have planned for the Games, but food is often hard to get in the arena. It's called Hunger Games for a reason. Gain weight while you can."

Diana sat down at the table and dug in. The food was delicious. If one plate disagreed with her, she could put it aside and eat from another. She had never eaten like this before, not in the Community Home, and certainly not locked in the underground cells of the Justice Hall.

She wondered why the Capitol would serve such an excellent meal to somebody despised by her own District, and who was likely to be killed off in a few days. But then, she seldom expected the workings of the powers that be to make sense.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	3. Who keeps the Peacekeepers?

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 3 Who Keeps the Peacekeepers?**

Captain Penelope Thread of the Capitol Peacekeepers was delighted to receive an electronic message from her friend Cory. It was simply an invitation to drinks and a small meal. If anybody else saw it, they'd just think that Penny had a boyfriend, and find nothing suspicious in the visit. To be sure Peacekeepers were not allowed to marry during their term of service, but nobody would have angst over a mere dinner date, particularly for somebody ranking as high as Penelope.

In reality Cory was not her boyfriend. She gave that impression because it sounded harmless. She cultivated Cory because he was a source of brilliant ideas. His official position was in the Hunger Games, making sure that nature of each year's arena was kept a tight secret until the Games began. It was quite a responsibility for a young man not out of his twenties: on the one hand there were hundreds of people involved, building the arenas and developing the underlying technology; on the other hand, there were devious Districts anxious to find out the theme so that they could train their tributes accordingly and give them a big advantage in the Games. But Cory also read extensively in history in his spare time, and it gave him ideas.

A few months ago, Cory told her about an interesting quotation from ancient Rome. "We have people who watch over the State, but who watches the watchers?" There were stories of the Pretorian Guard, who were supposed to protect the Emperor but sometimes ended up killing him themselves. Could the Peacekeepers be corrupted, or infiltrated?

The Peacekeepers did have internal controls, but Cory suggested a way to strengthen them. At his suggestion she put an observer in several Districts to watch what the Peacekeepers did, and to report secretly to Penelope. It had already paid off twice. The most recent case was an incident in District 7. The official report from the District said that they had caught a girl gang desecrating a new memorial: the ringleader had been forced into the upcoming Hunger Games and the rest had been given sound public whippings to deter others. But Penelope's observer reported that things were not that clean. They had extracted a confession from an innocent suspect and rested on their laurels; only a genuine confession from a gang member had broken the case. It was a minor case and not worth outing her observer, so Penelope just made a note to keep an eye on 7's Chief Peacekeeper ( nobody in the Capitol worried about an innocent suspect suffering under torture; this was a culture where 23 teens were killed each year in a grand ritual).

The result was that Penelope was always willing to listen to new suggestions from Cory. Tonight he delayed getting down to business, as if the whole idea really was to have drinks and a small meal. Penelope drank sparingly and asked a crucial question: why didn't Cory offer his ideas through official channels instead of informally giving them to Penelope? It would impress people and win Cory advancement.

"Ah, but advancement isn't what I need want at the moment," said Cory. "I like my position, but I want to help strengthen the State against possible problems."

"You see a new problem now?"

He did not answer immediately, but brought out the "small meal" he had promised. "There's an old legend. A powerful being called a genie has been imprisoned in a bottle. Somebody accidentally lets him out, and he threatens to kill his rescuer. So the problem is, how do you put a genie back in a bottle?"

"How did he put him back in?"

"Well, that's not important. It's an allegory. The point is, some dangerous actions are irreversible."

"What actions do you have in mind?"

"This business of voting tributes into the Quarter Quell. It's supposed to be a unique protocol, just for this year, but it raises expectations. The people of the Districts have been allowed to vote in an election, and the machinery for the election remains. Also, for one year, the people have been freed from worry about their children being reaped for the Hunger Games. Next year it will be business as usual. The people will have no say in who gets reaped, or in anything else. There will be a lot of resentment. I think the Peacekeepers in the Districts need to be prepared for more resistance next year."

Penelope frowned. Cory's idea had been expressed in terms of increasing security, but what he was really hinting at was that the Quarter Quell special rules had been a stupid idea on the part of the government. But then, how could he offer his idea without making that insinuation? "I'll order increases in security for next year."

"Thank you."

Penelope's communicator buzzed. The Empire had been unable to restore the satellite-driven communications technology that had existed before the Dark Days, but they had set up short-range wireless communication where it was most needed, among Peacekeepers in the Capitol. "Hello. Captain Penelope Thread here."

"This is Colonel Philippe. I'm sorry to contact you off-hours. Can you speak privately?"

"I can arrange it. Cory, it's my superior officer. Can you give me a few minutes alone?"

"Certainly. Take that room there."

"-OK, I'm alone now."

"Good. But just in case, can you tell me who you were with? Cory something?"

"Oh, I trust him; he works in security for the Hunger Games. His name is Coriolanus Snow."

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. The Mentor

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 4 The Mentor**

 _This isn't what I signed up for,_ thought Theresia as she exited Wallenston's room.

The Hunger Games had been in effect for twenty-five years, and the victories had been dominated by a few Districts: Two, Five, and Ten. The reasons were fairly obvious: once a District had victors, they could advise subsequent tributes on strategies for fighting and survival. Meanwhile the other tributes were simply thrown into the arenas unprepared and were easily slaughtered.

A few years earlier the Gamesmasters finally decided to do something about it, not because they were upset by the unfairness, but because the Games were getting dull with the same Districts winning predictable victories each year. The victor-advisors were made official with a title, "Mentors", and a fund was set up to hire Mentors for the rest of the districts. It still wasn't ideal: the salary was not high, and the hired mentors lacked the experience of the victors. The Gamesmasters rationalized that eventually every District would have a victor and the problem would be solved.

Theresia had not gotten involved for the money. She was from a wealthy Capitol family and didn't need the extra pay. She was disturbed by the tribute system itself. The rationale behind it all was the ancient Roman idea that children were the property of their parents and that one could punish a guilty citizen by targeting his progeny. There was a brief period in Theresia's youth where her father had antagonised President Shrub. Peacekeepers summoned Theresia to their headquarters and tried to get her to give evidence of supposed wrongdoing on her father's part, making vague threats of punishment if she did not. Fortunately Shrub died at exactly that point and the new President took her family back into favor, but it had taught Theresia a few things. That there was injustice in Panem, that children were particularly vulnerable to it, that she had just encountered the tip of the iceberg and had luckily been saved from the full brunt of it. And was it really luck that President Shrub had died at that point? Or was there a real conspiracy that Theresia didn't happen to know about?

Whenever Thereseia felt stressed, she tended to have a nightmare of that day at the Peacekeepers. But when she mentioned it to other people, they said it was nerves. Shrub may have been corrupt, but they had a new, honest President now.

One who still kept the Hunger Games going.

Theresia readily saw parallels between tributes and herself: children who had done nothing wrong except to be born to parents whom the government disliked. So she got involved in the mentoring program. There were still difficulties, particularly at the beginning. How could she advise tributes when she had no experience of the Games itself? She tried to compensate by viewing past games. Her tapes were from the public broadcasts; the more extensive records made by the Gamesmasters were not available.

Her research paid off when her tribute from District 11 actually won the 23rd Hunger Games. This made her famous, but more important to her was the fact that she had saved a tribute who would otherwise have been killed.

Now that District 11 had a victor/mentor of its own, she was moved to District 7, which still lacked a victor. Her tributes there were both killed before the finale of the 24th Games, but she could at least tell herself that she had given her innocent victims a few extra days of life.

Then the government changed the rules for the 25th Games. The kids were not innocent victims this time; they had been chosen by their Districts for their ordeal. Theresia had to determine whether they had been deservedly chosen or not.

Diana had frankly admitted to a nasty prank: leading a gang of local girls in smearing a local memorial with horse dung. But she defended it on the grounds that the officer honored by the memorial had murdered her parents. To evaluate that, Theresia had to judge local politics. What she saw of the District 7 government had not impressed her. The Peacekeepers had tried to torture an innocent girl into confessing to the crime. And Theresia had seen a video of one of Diana's partners being whipped half-naked in public; not only suffering the pain of the lash, but pathetically trying to hide her breasts from the crowd and the camera. Finally Theresia had come to the conclusion that whatever Diana had done, it didn't deserve death in the arena.

The case of Bruce Wallenston seemed more straightforward. He was accused of trying to rape his girlfriend. The accusation came not from Peacekeepers, whom Theresia might have doubted, but citizens who had heard the girl scream and found her with Bruce, bruised and with her dress torn. Theresia wanted to be fair, and decided to get the boy's own story after talking to Diana.

Bruce was in a rage, and part of it was understandable. The Peacekeepers, fearing that he would be a threat to Diana or Theresia herself, had injected him with a powerful drug that made him impotent. The effect was temporary, but of course there was a high probability of his being killed in the Hunger Games, in which case the impotence might well be considered permanent. And there was a scarier way of describing the effect of the medication. Call it "chemical castration". Certainly Bruce was regarding it that way.

He did not understand the importance of getting Theresia's sympathy, or if he did, he certainly did not go about it the right way. He referred to his girlfriend as a "bitch" who had promised to give up her virginity to him and then broken the promise; that, to him, seemed to justify using force to claim what was "his". That she could have meant the promise and yet panicked at the idea afterwards was beyond his understanding. Theresia was disgusted.

A mentor's moral responsibility was to help her tributes win. But she knew that if it came to a choice between Diana and Bruce, she'd back Diana.

This evening it didn't matter. She faced the two tributes and gave directions for the next day.

"We'll arrive at the Capitol railway station mid-morning tomorrow. I'll go ahead to the Training Center, but you are required to stay in the station until all the tributes have arrived. You aren't allowed to talk to other district's tributes, and there will be Peacekeepers there to enforce that rule."

"But we can at least LOOK at the other tributes, right?" asked Diana. "See which ones look the strongest?"

"Yes. But keep in mind that strength in itself may not determine the winner. Another tribute may be faster, or smarter, or better able to survive on their own. If there're from a district with an earlier Victor, they've gotten a lot of practical advice on how to win. Currently the Districts with that distinction are 1, 2, 4, 5, 10, and 11. So there are a lot of things that could determine the winner." She decided not to mention at this point that she had trained the victor from 11.

"When all of the tributes have arrived, the entire group will make a formal procession from the railway station to the training center. Huge crowds of Capitol dwellers are likely to turn out to watch the procession. Don't do anything silly. You want to make the best possible impression on the onlookers, because they may sponsor you in the Games. And this is the crucial point: DO NOT try to escape, no matter how tempting it seems. The Capitol Peacekeepers know all the likely hiding places in the city and you don't. If you get caught, you'll be whipped so thoroughly that you'll still be hurting when the Games begin, and start off with a severe disadvantage. Understand?"

The two nodded somberly. Even Bruce had figured out that staying angry would not work. He needed to keep a cool head.

"Once you reach the Training Center, I'll meet you and we'll talk about the next stage. For now, go to bed, and try to get a good sleep for the next few nights. Because I guarantee that once you're in the arena, you won't sleep well at all."

TO BE CONTINUED

 _(Author's Note: The idea of the impotence drug is borrowed from fanfiction by "Fernwithy", with his permission. In his stories the purpose of the drug is to prevent tributes from committing sexual assaults in the arena. Fernwithy also presented the idea that the Capitol does include decent people who realize the barbarity of the Games. I highly recommend his Hunger Games stories)_

 _(Author's Note: For the sake of some variety, I am assuming that in the 25_ _th_ _Games the protocols are different from the ones Katniss described in the 74_ _th_ _and 75_ _th_ _Games. No filmed reapings, no costuming, no parade with horses and chariots. They are later developments.)_


	5. Two Bored Boys

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 5 Two Bored Boys**

"This is boring," said Bruce.

The railway station had a courtyard in a checkerboard pattern, and at the moment each two-meter-wide square was occupied by a pair of tributes. They could stand or sit in them, and stare at tributes in other squares, but that was about it. Leaving the squares, or talking to tributes in other squares, was forbidden. They were waiting for the last train, from District 12.

"Once things start happening," his fellow tribute said, "it just brings us closer to being killed in the arena. I think it's better being bored."

"I guess that's true," said Bruce. He was trying to decide how to deal with Diana. He thought she was pretty, and vaguely found her sexy. The vagueness was troubling. That damned medicine hadn't just turned off parts of his body, but seemed to affect the corresponding parts of his mind. He remembered hitting Tammy after she refused to have sex, but couldn't remember why having sex was so important.

"Actually I do have one problem," admitted Diana. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"They said that if we raise our hands, they'll take us to the john one by one."

"Yeah, but that would be embarrassing to ask."

"Embarassing? At least in the john here you'll have privacy. Once the Games start, we may have to pee in the woods, or worse."

"You're right." She raised her hand. A lady Peacekeeper came and took her by the arm.

Bruce thought he heard the sound of a train in the distance. Meanwhile somebody came by distributing extra pieces of cloth. It looked like one stuck one's head through a hole in the middle, and draped it on front and in back. Bruce's had a huge number 7 on it. He agreed to hold the other for Diana.

Diana and her escort came back a few minutes later, just as the District 12 tributes were being brought in from the other direction. She kept giggling. When asked why, she just said "The way they hi-teched the restrooms. You'll find out."

"Attention, tributes," said a loudspeaker. "The procession will start momentarily. You will proceed in the order of your district number. Keep at least 20 meters between you and the tributes in front of you, so that the spectators can have a good look at you. You will be accompanied by Peacekeepers on horseback, to keep you in formation. Do not try to break out. The penalty for attempting to escape will be a bare-back flogging of 25 lashes."

"Theresia warned us about that," Bruce whispered to Diana.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "Bastards. At least when they whipped my friends it's because they did something rebellious. Here it's just to keep us in order."

The Districts ahead of them, numbers 1-6, marched out. As they exited the train station onto the boulevard, two Peacekeepers on horses flanked them on either side. The horses that Bruce had seen in District 7 were heavy breeds, the types that could drag logs over long distances. These looked more decorative, but were still intimidating. The mere thought of trying to run away with an angry horseman on one's heels was terrifying.

Beyond the mounted Peacekeepers were the city crowds, lining the boulevard. Seeing them gave Bruce an unpleasant sense of déjà vu, remembering the mob that taunted him at the reaping. He told himself that this was different. The mob at the reaping had hated him. This group was festive, dressed in colorful finery, and seemed excited and awed to see the tributes.

Beyond the crowds on either side were the imposing buildings of the Capitol, a far cry from the utilitarian buildings owned by the logging industry in District 7. With power and wealth like this, it was no wonder that the Capitol was able to keep the Districts under its thumb.

Ahead of them, the girl tribute from 6 suddenly fell to the pavement, and did not get up. She had fainted, from nerves or exertion. One of the Peacekeeper "escorts" dismounted, signalled for the rest of the procession to halt, and examined her. He talked on his communications bracelet, and eventually an ambulance drove on the side of the boulevard to pick her up.

Diana looked sick. "They send an ambulance NOW. But if somebody does that in the arena, there'll be no ambulance. She'll lie there until she dies!"

-0-0-0-0-0

"This is boring," said Seezy.

He was sitting in the VIP box with an excellent view of the parade. Not because he was a very important person in himself – he was only ten years old – but because his mother, Flora Flickerman, had a high position in the department that handled Hunger Games Publicity, and got permission to bring him.

The man on the other side of Seezy turned to him and grinned. "Boring, eh? You shouldn't criticize things unless you could do them better."

His mother turned in concern. "Please don't mind him, Mr. Snow. He's just a silly boy."

"I don't mind him at all, Ms. Flickerman. What's your name, young man?"

"Seezy - Caesar Flickman."

"And how would you make the procession less boring, Caesar?"

Seezy thought about it. "Costumes."

"Ah. But then how would you tell the districts apart, then?"

Seezy thought again. "Diff'rent costumes."

"Ah. Anything else?"

Seezy looked out at the procession. "The tribbies could ride the horses."

"Yes, but few people know how to ride out in the districts. They use workhorses, not riding animals."

"Um – they could ride in wagons, and the horses could pull that."

"Wagons?"

"Um – I've got a book on Rome. There's a picture of a parade, and horses are pulling a thing with a man in it – um, um—"

"Chariots?"

"Yeah, that's the word."

"Tributes in costume in horse-drawn chariots. Very interesting. If I were ever put in charge of the procession, I'd think about that. You've got a bright son, Ms Flick—"

They were interrupted by a sudden commotion down on the boulevard.

"What happened?" asked Mom.

"Looks like one of the tributes broke free," said Mr. Snow. "Ran down a side street. Ah, there goes one of the Peacekeepers after him now. The runaway is not likely to outrun a horse. I think they'll probably just resume the procession without them."

"Things are less boring now," said Seezy.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mom was away for the next 3 days doing Hunger Games business, and Seezy was left with a nanny. When she came back, she was accompanied by Flavius Squire, her current boyfriend. Squire was very nice to Seezy, who addressed him as Uncle Flavvy.

"You look exhausted, Florrie," Uncle Flavvy said.

"Not really exhausted. Sort of stunned. They had me film the punishment of the runaway. Lots of blood."

"I'd think you'd be used to that, working on the Games."

"In the Games the idea is to kill an opponent as quickly as possible. Not to keep them conscious and in pain."

"Why did they need the film?"

"To show to future tributes to deter them from trying to run away. Well, that's over. After we watch the 'Demonstrations and Pleas' tonight, my involvement is over." 

Mom had explained the Demonstrations and Pleas to Seezie the previous year. It was broadcast live from the Training Center. Each tribute was allowed to make a speech asking for sponsors and gifts during the Games. Sometimes they would demonstrate a skill, using the dummies and instruments in the Center.

There were 22 tributes making speeches this year. Two could not appear: the girl who had fainted and the boy who had been beaten for trying to run away. Both of them were still in recovery.

It started off well. Both Districts 1 and 2 had voted for self-confident candidates with fighting skills that could be demonstrated: lifting weights, running swiftly around the Center, using knives and swords to chop up dummies. After that things went downhill. One of the worst was the girl from 5:

"I um, I'd like you to support me, because I - I -" at which point she burst into tears and ran offscreen.

"She's doomed." Uncle Flavvie said somberly.

"Why?" asked Seezie. "Because she was crying?"

Uncle Flavvie tried to explain that sponsors donated to tributes because they were betting on them to win, and hoped that the winnings would reimburse them for the donations. If they seemed to be losers, the sponsors would spend money on them. Also that this year's tributes had been chosen by their Districts to be sent into the deadly games, which meant that most of them were under a stigma. All of this went over Seezie's head. He still ended up with the notion that the girl was being punished for crying.

The girl from District 7 said, "My name is Diana Farmer. I did something wrong, but I don't deserve to die for it. Please give me a chance."

"Dignified," judged Uncle Flavvie, "but not likely to appeal to a sponsor."

Five minutes later came the girl from 8. "My name is Agatha Paylor. I think I have good chances because I can make do with what I've got. Like this." She held up a piece of cloth to the camera. "Just a strip of material I tore off a spare dress. But I can do THIS with it." The camera followed her as she approached a dummy from behind. Suddenly she wrapped the strip around the dummy's hand like a garrote, then gave the cloth a quick yank. The dummy fell and its head came off. "A human may not fall exactly like that, but I can still break his neck. Or hers."

"She's definitely going to get sponsors," said Mom.

"Yes," said Uncle Flavvie. "But your kid has a point. A tribute's survival in the arena shouldn't depend on a three-minute speech that could go wrong. There should be better ways to do it."

"Well, I'm too tired to think of any right now," said Mom.

After the broadcast finished, with District 12, Mom and Uncle Flavvie retired to her bedroom, with definitely orders that they were not to be interrupted. Seezie was left to think. That odd man at the procession seem to like his ideas about making it less boring. Could Seezie maybe think of other ways to the speeches?

It took years, but he ended up revolutionizing the presentation of the tributes.

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. The Games Approach

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 6 The Games Approach**

"I'm sorry that I was unable to write an effective speech for you, " said Theresia in their rooms that evening.

"It's all right," said Diana, "or rather, it isn't all right, but it's not your fault. There probably isn't anything that I could have said that would appeal to the Capitol. I could have said I was good at sneaking around, but that will just remind them how I got into trouble. The real point is, nobody cares if I live or die. In a normal year my District might care about me, but they're the ones who sent me here."

"Well," said Bruce. "I care if I live or die, and if others don't agree with me, they're stupid. And you should think the same way. Don't just assume you're a loser, or you'll be one."

"That's the right attitude," said Theresia. "But when I was growing up, my parents thought the Hunger Games were a temporary event that would die out. I hate the idea that a year with the Hunger Games in it is a normal year."

She suddenly went quiet when servants entered with their dinner, and made a "shoosh" gesture. Ostensibly servants were criminals undergoing punishment, but maybe Theresia suspected that among them was a spy that might report incriminating conversations.

"Now, they've put a big meal before us, and I urge you to eat everything, even if you don't have the appetite. Once the Games start, it may be hard for you to find food. It's usually supplied at the Cornucopia, but the Gamesmasters use it as a tool to lure tributes into fighting over it, and you may want to avoid that."

They dug in. Halfway through, somebody came to the door of their suite with a delivery. Theresia answered it.

"It's your uniforms for the arena," said Theresia. "Sometimes they give clues of what the arena will be like - that's odd. Short pants, and shirts with short sleeves. Not much protection against the elements. Maybe they'll control the weather so that you won't need the protection."

"Or maybe they want us to suffer from the elements," said Bruce glumly.

"Yes, that's possible."

After they finished the meal, Theresia's next advice was that they get a good night's sleep. They would need all of their wits as the Games started tomorrow. But Bruce stopped Diana at the door of her bedroom. "There's something private I need to say, and this may be the only chance."

"Oh?"

"Well – um - you're not very sexy –"

"Thanks a lot. You thought it was important to say that?"

"Let me finish. I've always judged girls by how sexy they are. If they weren't, I didn't deal with them. But I don't feel that way anymore. I suppose it was hormones, and that damned medicine has turned them off, so I can judge girls better now. Anyway, I think it was very brave of you to attack that statue, even if everybody else treats it like a crime. I think you deserve to survive. So I promise not to hurt you during the Games."

"What if we're the last two alive and they make us fight?"

"You really think that'll happen?"

"I'd like to think there's hope."

"Okay. I won't hurt you UNLESS we're the last two alive."

"I make you the same promise." Sometimes people talked about alliances in the Games, but they never seemed to work. Almost inevitably, somebody would see an advantage in stabbing an ally in the back lest the other do it to her.

They separated, and Diana closed the door of her bedroom behind her. Bruce was right: she really didn't think she'd survive to the end. She would die in the next few days. Had she done anything in her life that other people would remember? The obvious high point was the decision to deface the statue of that murderer with horse dung. It had no immediate effect except to get several people punished, but would it be remembered as a heroic gesture that would encourage others to rebel? Or would people just remember the manure, and turn it into a joke? _My name is merde._ Would her posthumous reputation matter to her after she died?

She managed to suppress the thoughts and get some sleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next morning she awoke and put on the short pants and shirt that she had been given, and ate breakfast ( opulent like all Capitol meals). Theresia said she would be forbidden to accompany them to the arena; mentors were supposed to congregate in the Games Headquarters so that sponsors could contact them. A pair of Peacekeepers would take Bruce and herself to the arena. She knew better than to try to escape at this point, and apparently so did Bruce.

An hour later they found themselves in a huge underground room, with 22 other tributes and nearly as many Peacekeepers to keep them from fighting ahead of time. Diana looked around to determine who the dangerous enemies would be. Tributes who were mentored by victors, and could benefit by the mentors' experience, would have had better training. That would be districts 2, 4, 5, 8, 10, and 11. Districts 1 and 2 would be a threat because they had chosen tributes based on skills rather than unpopularity. The pair from 2, Aeneas and Lucretia, would be doubly dangerous, and so would the girl from 8, Ariadne, who had boasted of her resourcefulness during the speeches. The girl from 6, who had fainted at the parade, still looked pale and was probably doomed. So was the boy from 9, who had tried to escape the parade and had been beaten with a whip; he still walked as if he was in pain. 3 and 12 were apparently unremarkable.

The main features of the room were 24 glass cylinders encircling the center. The Peacekeepers herded the tributes into them, one per cylinder. "Herd" was the right word: the Peacekeepers used their clubs to whack uncooperative tributes on their butts, like cattle. They had already lost their human dignity, even before entering the arena.

Once they were sealed in the tubes the Gamesmasters activated the elevator mechanism to take them up into the arena. As it rose Diana found herself in area only a meter wide, surrounded by solid rock. Though she was not normally claustrophobic, the sense of being imprisoned in a tiny cell, being transporting to her doom, nearly drove her to panic. At least the other 23 tributes were undergoing the same thing.

Finally the lift mechanism cleared the rock and Diana found herself on a pedestal. She had been warned that any attempt to step off would kill her. Instead she looked around and tried to size up the landscape.

There was no landscape.

The 24 tributes were now in an immense rotunda with dark wooden walls and a high ceiling. Various open arches led away from the room. The only place Diana had seen that was comparable to this was in the Mayor's Palace in District 7, where she had been sent to work as a domestic once.

" _60 seconds until the Games_ ," said a disembodied voice. " _59, 58,…"_

TO BE CONTINUED.


	7. Light and Darkness in the Tunnel

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 7 Light and Darkness in the Tunnel**

 _(Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in continuing this story. Taxes. then participation in Easter activities. But here it is now)_

"…39, 38…"

So this was the crucial decision of Diana's life. There were of course supplies around the central Cornucopia, designed to tempt the tributes into killing each other to get them. Take the risk? Or run off through one of the arches, and hope that the lack of supplies didn't kill her in the long run?

Once again she reflected that nobody cared whether she lived or died. Formerly she found that depressing, but this time the thought was peculiarly liberating. She could make her choice and nobody could call her on it. It would affect nobody but herself.

"…9, 8…"

 _Play it safe and live a few days longer._

The starting bell rang and she turned and ran to the nearest arch.

The arch let her into a tunnel which, in itself, was unlighted. There was light ahead of her, she vaguely estimated it as 50 meters ahead. Were there hidden dangers in the dark? It couldn't be any more dangerous than the fighting behind her, and she was not afraid of darkness in itself. She decided to risk the walk.

Several minutes later she emerged from the tunnel. The results were quite anti-climatic. She was in another round chamber, smaller than the original, lighted from above Eight arches radiating in various directions. The chamber itself was bare of anything useful. She had to keep going, but where?

The obvious thing was to use the arch directly opposite. But if anybody tried to track her, they would guess that she would do the obvious thing and be able to stay on her trail. _So do something less obvious. Take the middle arch on the left._

The tunnel took her to another empty room with arches. This time she turned right, for the sake of being unpredictable. She wondered what on Earth the Gamesmasters had in mind when designing the arena like this. It was making it much too easy to avoid other people, when the Gamesmasters' usual strategy was to try to force the tributes together. On the other hand, she was not finding any sustinence or even water. Did they think it would be fun to make her wander in circles until she starved? Maybe THEY thought so, but it wouldn't be very entertaining to the audience, so she doubted they would try that.

With these thoughts in mind, she was startled when she emerged from the third tunnel and found something different. In the center of the room was a small table set for two. Diana picked up the silverware – they might turn out to be handy weapons – but did not yet try touching the food and drink. _Beware of Gamesmakers bearing gifts. They might be poisoned._

On the other hand, they might think it hilarious to watch her get hungrier and hungrier while food was in reach. It was not likely that there might be natural food in this crazy maze. All the food, except at the Cornucopia, would be provided like this.

She picked up an apple and bit into it, and waited to see what would happen.

0-0-0-0-0

As the countdown proceeded, Bruce saw a sword lying halfway between himself and the Cornucopia. He simply had to have a weapon to survive the Games, so he decided to gamble his life on seizing it.

4-3-2-1-BONG!

Bruce dashed forward, but so did the boy to his left. As they were about to collide Bruce threw his weight against his competitor, knocking him off balance, then grabbed the sword. The other simply backed up, holding out his palms either to ward off Bruce or to illustrate that he was unarmed. Either way he was no longer a threat, and Bruce had no reason to fight him. Instead he concentrated on what was going on at the Cornucopia.

At first it looked like sheer chaos, but Bruce realized that there was method to the madness. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2 were working together. The two boys were standing back to back, ensuring that nobody could sneak up behind them. The two girls attacked another girl from two sides and hacked her to death, then converged on another victim. Bruce had no ally and knew he was no match for this. Might as well flee while he was ahead, with a sword in his possession.

He couldn't see Diana. She probably had fled immediately, disappearing into one of the tunnels. He picked the tunnel nearest him and followed suit.

He could see light at the end and concentrated on running toward it. Big enclosed structures like this were alien to him; he was from the lumber district, dominated by log cabins put to various uses. When he finally emerged, it was into another round room with various tunnel entrances.

There was nothing useful here. All the useful stuff was probably back at the Cornucopia. He decided to double back partway. When he was about 15 meters from the original entrance, he stopped. From this vantage point he could see what was going on at the Cornucopia – which seemed to be a meeting of the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 – but be hidden in the darkness himself. There was no immediate danger. Bruce used the free time to practice with his sword. He had never handled such a weapon in District 7, and knew he probably had little chance of thrusting with it. But he could feel a sharp edge along its length, and could use it to hack away at an enemy. He waved it, getting used to the amount of energy needed to deploy it.

At the Cornucopia, the 4 tributes seemed to reach an agreement. One sat at the Cornucopia, and the other three disappeared down various tunnels. Fortunately Bruce's tunnel wasn't one of them. Should he try to attack the one who stayed behind at the Cornucopia? Not yet. The other had numerous weapons at his disposal, and probably training on how to use them, while Bruce was still getting used to deploying his own sword. Meanwhile he was safe. The guard didn't know that he was here.

"Who's there? Rocky, is that you?" A female voice BEHIND him. How had she gotten there?

Rocky was the name of the District 2 male tribute. So this girl was an enemy.

He flattened himself against the wall, making himself as invisible as possible, and turned to see the shadow of her head blocking most of the light from the other end of the tunnel. Since he had failed to reply, she clearly assumed that he was a threat. Her head-shadow shifted and he heard, rather than saw, the whoosh of a weapon as it missed him by a few centimeters. She, was, of course, fighting half blind. He lunged forward and aimed where he had seen the head-shadow. He felt an impact, her shadow assumed an odd shape and then sank altogether. Something hit his foot but moved no more.

He had killed her, by cutting her head half off. And he didn't even know who she was. Just an "enemy".

He felt sick, on more than one level. A couple of weeks earlier he had tried to force himself on a girl and was sent here as a punishment. But now he had actually killed a girl and realized that they would probably cheer him in the Capitol, because it was a killing during the Games. It was right for him to have been punished, but the Capitol was the wrong power to sit on judgement on him. Was there a right power somewhere? Or just the pain of his own conscience?

TO BE CONTINUED.


	8. Snow Fixes a Problem

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 8 Snow Fixes a Problem**

"Good afternoon, Captain Thread – Mr. Snow," said the Chief Gamesmaker. "It's a pleasure to meet with you today."

"I'm afraid it's business, not pleasure," said Snow. "I will need access to all of today's footage, to explain my problem."

Penelope Thread was startled by Snow's bluntness. The Chief Gamesmaker was one of the highest-ranking personages in Panem. Nobody was that brusque in dealing with them.

But the Chief Gamesmaker ushered them into an adjoining room containing numerous 3D displays, asking an assistant to accompany them.

"First, bring up the footage of the tributes as they rise into the room," said Snow. "The unedited footage, not the shots used for public broadcast."

The Chief nodded to the assistant, who operated the controls. Penelope realized that the Chief brought in the assistant simply to avoid carrying out Snow's orders personally, looking like his subordinate.

"Show shots of tributes outside Districts 1 and 2," ordered Snow. "You will notice that they are looking up, down, and around the room."

"Of course," said the Chief Gamesmaker. "They had no idea what the arena would be like, and are trying to absorb it before the Games starts."

"Exactly," said Snow. "Now show the four tributes from Districts 1 and 2. You will see that they are NOT exploring their surroundings. They are focussing on the Cornucopia, determining where the most useful weapons and supplies are. From which I deduce that they ALREADY knew what the arena is like."

"But that means – " began the Chief.

"That there has been a leak of information about the arena, yes. Which is my duty to track down. We need an investigation of your department."

"You're basing that just on what people are looking at?" said the Chief, naturally upset at the threat.

"No, I have more –"

KNOCKNOCK.

"Come in," called the Chief Gamesmaker, obviously relieved at the interruption.

A young woman came in. "Chief, we've retrieved the body of the girl from 5. She was killed an hour ago by the girl from 8."

"And why was that worth interrupting this meeting?" asked Snow.

"Something unusual. The body was naked. The girl from 8 stole the clothes before we got it."

"Well, that IS interesting," said Snow. "The 8 girl was the one who boasted that she could use whatever tools at hand, wasn't she? What do the rules say, Chief?"

"That tributes are allowed to rob supplies from the dead, because in theory all the supplies are gifts from us to the tributes in general."

"So I suppose that it was within the rules. You supplied the uniforms, right? You'll have to let it slide."

The Chief was clearly annoyed at having Snow dictate her reaction. She turned to the visitor. "Make sure the victim's nakedness is not shown in the broadcast. And make a note that we may want to amend the rules before the next Games."

"Yes, ma'am." The young woman went out.

"Now back to the important business," said Snow. "Please put up a diagram of the center of the arena."

The assistant brought up a gridwork on the display.

"Thank you," said Snow. "Now, note that a tribute can make a quick circuit by going out one corridor, taking a cross-corridor like this one, and coming back via an adjoining corridor. That is obvious to US, looking at the diagram. It would NOT be obvious to a tribute inside the thing. Yet the tributes from District 1 and 2 immediately began an organized search pattern once they had secured the Cornucopia room. Apollo, the district 1 male, went out what you've labelled corridor 1, took cross-corridor A and came back on corridor 2. Aura, the district 1 female, went out corridor 3 and came back corridor 4 –"

"And got killed," said the Chief Gamesmaker.

"Yes, but that doesn't invalidate my argument. Ruby, the district 2 female, went out corridor 5 and came back corridor 6. Rocky, the district 2 male, stayed to guard the Cornucopia stash, but once Apollo came back Rocky took care of the last 2 tunnels. They knew what they were doing – covering all the approaches to the Cornucopia, though of course Aura's death showed that the plan wasn't perfect."

"All right," said the Chief wearily. "I'll let you investigate."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It turned out to be Penelope that found the leak, and it was absurdly simple. Apollo and Aura had stupidly talked in front of an Avox, apparently assuming that a slave that couldn't talk couldn't give them away. But the Avox could write perfectly well, and gave Penelope a lengthy account in exchange for lenient treatment.

"One of the arena engineers was sleeping with a guy named Via Valley, who was scheduling the trains for the escorts and tributes," she explained during the next meeting. "He learnt about the arena layout, and travelled to Districts 1 and 2 to sell the information. He told each district rep that he was dealing with the other district and that they would be at a disadvantage if the other had a monopoly of the secret. The district reps passed the information to the mentors. I've arrested Via, the district reps, and the mentors. I'll let the Gamesmakers hierarchy deal with the engineer that couldn't keep her mouth shut in bed."

"Excellent," said Snow. "But there are 3 people left that we have to neutralize."

"Who are they?" asked the Chief Gamesmaker.

"Apollo, Ruby, and Rocky, who are benefiting from information that they had no right to."

"Well, they're in the arena now," said the Chief Gamesmaker. "There's no way to erase the information from the tributes' minds."

"No," said Snow, "but we can erase the tributes."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Bruce was leading a miserable existence, though he thought grimly that it was better than the alternative, which was to cease existing at all. After claiming the dead Career's supplies – a few weapons and some food – he retreated to the far end of the tunnel so that the Capitol could retrieve the body. From the empty room at the far end he went at random into another tunnel, but did not walk its length; he wanted to stay near the Cornucopia, but be out of range of the Careers when they came to investigate the girl's death. Eventually he felt the need to relieve himself; for lack of any facilities he used one of the other tunnels for the purpose and avoided it henceforth. The rest of the time he simply sat in the dark and brooded on his situation. Every once in a while he heard a cannon go off, but of course there was no way to tell whose death it was marking.

At one point the Gamesmakers suddenly played the National Anthem over the loudspeakers. With no sky available for showing pictures, they read out the names of the fallen instead. Bruce realized, too late, that he should be trying to memorize the names, because there was no other way of keeping track who was still alive. But he did note that there were roughly a dozen names, and Diana's was not among them. So she was still alive somewhere in the arena. The high death toll was probably due to the initial fight at the Cornucopia.

His little batch of food was giving out fast; he didn't even know why the Career had been carrying the food in the first place, unless it was some sort of protocol that they followed. That was one reason that he wanted to stay near the Cornucopia, the only place in the arena that he knew to have food. Unfortunately the Careers never left it completely alone.

Another National Anthem and list of fallen. Three more: the pair from 12 and the boy from 4, leaving about nine tributes. Diana was still unlisted.

Suddenly:

"AUUUUGH" "AHHHHHH" "MMMMMMM"

Odd yells from the Cornucopia room. Unable to contain his curiosity, and wondering if the source of the commotion might come toward him, Bruce ran down the tunnel toward the room but stopped when still protected by darkness. He was looking at a bizarre sight.

Each of the three surviving Careers was being encircled and crushed by a boa constrictor.

The remaining girl fell to the ground unmoving and a cannon went off. Surprisingly the snake stopped moving as well. It was a mutation, designed to do a certain task and then die. There was another dead boy and dead snake.

The third boy was still wrestling with his snake. Bruce's mind told him that he should simply run and leave the Career to his fate. The Careers were his enemies. But his instincts told him that in a fight between man and brute, his sympathies should be with the man.

Bruce dashed forward and tried to cut at the snake with his sword, at least decreasing the pressure on the victim. The snake-muttation unwound the front of its body, then whipped its head around with amazing speed. The force knocked the sword out of Bruce's hand and sent it flying several meters away. That might have hurt the snake, too, but of course it wasn't a real animal that would retreat when wounded. Bruce ran to the sword and picked it up, only to see the third boy collapse before he could do anything else. A third cannon went off.

The Gamemakers had just eliminated all the surviving Careers. Why?

TO BE CONTINUED.


	9. Last Meal

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 9 Last Meal**

It was bizarre. For all of her life Diana had thought of arenas as horrible places, and what she saw on TV certainly did not persuade her otherwise. Yet here she was in the 25th Arena, with a better standard of living than she ever had in the District 7 orphanage. There was food available, and she did not have to labor to produce it. By collecting cushions off of the chairs and spreading them under the table she had a comfortable bed to sleep on, and since the folds of the tablecloth came nearly to the ground on all sides, she could sleep without worrying that somebody could come into the room and find her there helpless. It would be nice if she had bathing facilities and a toilet, but she couldn't have everything.

Of course it was finite. Sooner or later the food would run out, and she would have to find another such room or starve. If another room existed it might be occupied already by another tribute, or she might run into a murderous tribute, and this discouraged her from searching before it became necessary. There was a famous quotation that fit the situation: eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die.

"Ah!" said a male voice behind her.

Diana jumped and circled the table to put a barrier behind herself and the intruder.

It was a teenaged boy in tribute outfit, wielding a club that must have been torn off a piece of furniture. Several meters behind him was a very pale girl.

"Give us the food or I'll kill you!"

Diana swallowed and tried to be calm. "There's enough food to share without threats."

Not really. Sharing the food three ways basically cut her future down to a third. But it would likely be cut even further if she tried to fight.

The boy looked flustered. "Um, thank you." Then he actually put the club down to the table. "Sorry for the threat, but Arianna is sick and desperately needs to eat."

"Let's sit down, then," said Diana. She looked at the pale girl. "You're the girl from 6, aren't you? The one who fainted at the parade."

She nodded. "I wasn't up to the walk. I've been sick for half a year. They can't cure it, and I can't even pronounce it."

"It's horrible bad luck that you had to go to the Games, then."

"It wasn't luck," said Arianna. "They decided that if somebody had to die, might as well choose somebody with low life expectancy."

"That really IS horrible," said Diana. She gave her name and explained the circumstances that led to her being chosen for the Games. "At least I brought it on myself. I'm not ashamed of besmirching that statue, but I hate that another girl got punished for what I did." She turned to the boy. "What about you? How did you get forced into the Games?"

"My name is Sean Cartwright, from District 12. I got picked by the lottery."

"But there wasn't a lottery this year."

"Not a Capitol lottery, no. But my district decided that it be wrong to vote for somebody to die, based on sheer unpopularity. So we had our own lottery, and I lost. Along with a girl, of course."

Talk turned to the Games themselves.

"Arianna and I both fled the Cornucopia fight," said Sean. We ran into each other on day 2. She was shaking and I could tell that she was no threat, so we teamed up. But we could only find one cache of food – nothing like this."

"We heard death announcements for both of our district partners," added Sean. "Otherwise we've lost track of who's alive and who's dead."

"I kept track," said Diana, pulling the tablecloth off of a corner of the table, revealing a series of gashes made by her knife. "Ordinarily, I'd think that marking up furniture would be very boorish, but then this is the Hunger Games. Anyway, I kept records of each night's death announcements. It looks like there are 7 of us left. The three of us. My district partner, though I don't know where he is. The girl from 8 that bragged how resourceful she was. Both tributes from 11. The big mystery is what happened to the tributes from Districts 1 and 2, who were favored to win. Three of them died within minutes of each other, judging from the cannons."

"At least the most dangerous tributes are out of the way, except for that girl from 8," said Sean. He turned to his companion. "Arianna, why aren't you eating?"

"You two share. It'll last longer."

"But you need to eat."

"No, I don't." She picked up the sharpest knife on the table, and suddenly stabbed herself in the chest.

Diana and Sean cried in horror and bent over her as she fell.

"Dyin' anyway," she gasped. "Thank - for making - last day pleas't "

BOOM went the cannon.

TO BE CONTINUED

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The scene where Sean uses a fake threat to get food for an ailing companion, only to receive a free gift of it, is from Shakespeare's AS YOU LIKE IT)


	10. At the Gamesmasters' Disposal

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 10 At the Gamesmakers' Disposal**

"How horrible!" Diana exclaimed. "She killed herself just to leave more food for us to eat!"

"It's more complicated than that," said Sean, though there were tears in his eyes. "She and I talked a lot while we were exploring. She was terrified about a lingering death from her disease. She talked about a 'good death' and a 'bad death'. I suppose that being with friends, and ending it all with one quick blow, was her idea of a good death."

Diana wondered whether they should all be thinking in those terms, here in the Hunger Games.

"They'll want to retrieve the body," said Sean. "We should probably get out of the way."

"How will they do it?"

"I don't know."

They retreated into the month of one of the tunnels. Soon afterward a trapdoor opened in the floor, and a collection of iron rods emerged upward. They bent at several points, and ended in a sort of grapple. The device picked up the dead girl and then went into reverse, disappearing into the trapdoor, which closed. Diana wondered what would have happened if one of them had jumped into the trapdoor. Probably the Gamesmasters would have had anticipated that, and had somebody on hand to kill them.

"I hear that they put them in a coffin and send them back to their districts," said Sean. "There's a section of our graveyard in District 12, reserved for tributes who were killed."

"In ours too." Diana refrained from mentioning that all of the coffins were constructed in District 7, which was the lumber district.

They emerged from the tunnel. The table was still set with food, but neither felt like eating. And when they did, several hours later, they tried to turn it into a ritual in honor of the dead.

Then the lights went out.

"Hey!" Diana shouted, fearing that she had gone blind. As Sean cursed – which at least proved that it was a real phenomenon and not just her - she looked around and spotted one glimmer of light. "Do you see that?"

"What? Oh, I see. Looks like the far end of one of the tunnels."

"What do you think?"

"That the Gamemasters are playing games. Too many people too spread out, so they want to squeeze us into a smaller area. They want us to migrate to where the light is. And the danger."

"Then we'll just have to stay put," declared Diana. "Try to function in the darkness."

"The darkness may not be their only weapon. What if they decide to turn off our air?"

"Air?"

"I don't think we're just in a sprawling building. I think we're underground, and you can't keep a lot of people underground without refreshing their air. I know; I'm from the mining district."

"Let's wait until we HAVE to move."

"All right."

By feel, they gathered the cushions from their seats so that they could lie down on them. Walking in the dark was unnecessary, and nerve-racking. Diana had had maneuvered around on the night when she desecrated the statue, but that was with the aid of moonlight and scattered outdoor lighting in the town. Here the darkness, aside from the glimmer in the tunnel, was total, not just something that their eyes could adjust to.

Eventually – they had no way of telling the time – the air went out. Even Diana was aware of the sudden silence, even though she had tuned out the sound of the air-circulation machinery.

They discussed what to do with the food. Again working by feel and memory, they found the table settings. They drank what was left of the beverages, and used the tablecloth to wrap up solid food to take with them. Diana suggested pocketing the sharpest table knives, which might be useful makeshift weapons. The blades ripped the linings of their pockets, but that was the least of their problems. Sean felt around and found his club. Then they focused on the tunnel light and walked toward it. It was still nerve-racking, because the image of the light seemed to jump, and she was still afraid of tripping on something in the dark, but what choice did they have?

Eventually they got close enough to the far end that they were able to make out some furniture in the next room, which was well-lit. No sign of people. They stopped to consider the situation.

"I feel a breeze," said Diana. "The air in that room must still be circulating."

Sean took a deep breath. "Something else too. I smell some smoke. Somebody must have started a fire, to help light the way in their own tunnel."

"Yes. But I don't see anybody in the room."

"Let me go ahead, with the club and one of the knives. Stay out of sight."

Diana watched as he walked slowly in the room. At first it seemed safe. Then a figure suddenly sprang up from behind some furniture that Sean had just passed. Before Diana could call out a warning, the figure had slipped a strip of cloth over his head and around his neck. The girl from 8, who had bragged about her resourcefulness.

Sean tried to attack backwards with his club and knife, but could not deploy them properly. Then he threw them down and tried to wrestle with the garroting cloth itself.

One advantage: the girl's back was to Diana, and she didn't even know that Diana was there. Diana pulled out her knife, dashed forward, and stabbed the girl in the upper back.

Eight Girl screamed, released her garrote, and spun to see Diana. After distinctly proclaiming "Two against one isn't fair!", she fell dead.

BOOM! Went the cannon.

Diana knelt down, feeling sick. After getting her breath back, she explained "That's the first person I've killed."

Sean was also gasping, recovering from the choking. But they knew what had to come next. They backed away from the body, and watched as another trapdoor opened to retrieve the corpse.

Searching the room, they found Eight Girl's supplies, some of whom were startling. Apparently she had not only robbed some victims of their own supplies, which was customary in the Hunger Games, but had stolen their clothes as well, in case they turned out to be useful. Diana found a half-burned brassiere. As Sean had speculated, she must have set it on fire to light her surroundings. Had Eight Girl actually taken it off the breasts of a dead victim? That image made her feel a bit queasy, reminding her of how the Peacekeepers in 7 had stripped her fellow conspirators to the waist, to make their whippings both painful and humiliating.

Diana and Sean were debating their next step when the lights went out again.

TO BE CONTINUED


	11. The Tenors

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 11** The Tenors

The Hunger Games were not the only game in town, though the Tenors' games were related. When gamblers first started betting on the Hunger Games, Tom Tenor's uncle went into business helping them hedge their bets. For a hefty fee, Tenor Enterprises would smuggle food and weapons to the favored tributes. The fee would cover both the supplies and the risk. If the tribute won, the client would pay Tenor Enterprises out of his or her winnings. Of course if the tribute lost, Tenor Enterprises still expected to be paid. The client would have to pay out of their own assets; if they failed or were unable to do so, Tom's uncle would transfer the debt to his Loan Shark Department.

The Gamesmasters ignored the smuggling for a while, but a series of scandals forced them to take action, even though Tenor Enterprises was never officially implicated. The Gamesmasters increased security, penalized tributes who were seen to have illegitimate supplies, and finally decided that if you can't beat them, join them. The sponsor system was sent up, with the Games personnel handling the delivery of the supplies themselves. Prices were still high, because the Gamesmasters needed the money to fund ever more elaborate arenas, but the sponsors preferred the legal form rather than risk getting caught using Tenor Enterprise's services.

After that Tom Tenor's uncle shut down Tenor Enterprises and retired. Some subsidiaries, such as the Loan Shark Department, were sold off. The family was left with lots of money, and experience in circumvented the laws, and the names of a few contacts who might be useful in the future.

By the time of the 25th Hunger Games, Tom's main source of income was betting on the Games. He didn't bet blindly, however, nor did he let himself get swayed by the interviews with the tributes. He had sources of information that could tell him which tributes had secret advantages. This particular year, he learnt that an unscrupulous Gamesmaker had sold Districts 1 and 2 a description of the arena, plus a diagram of how the tributes would be deployed around the Cornucopia. With that information, they could plan strategy both at the bloodbath and during the subsequent Games, while the other tributes would be fighting blind. He therefore entered a four-way bet that one of the quartet from 1 and 2 would be the Victor, having borrowed considerable funds for the purpose. He didn't have to resort to the Loan Shark Department, because his credit as a Tenor was good.

A few days later, the 3 favorites who were still alive were killed by a swarm of boa constrictor mutts, and Tom's assets were wiped out. Thanks to a Gamesmaker named Coriolanus Snow.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The man called himself Jack Ken Hagar. Tom wondered if that was short for John Kenneth; more likely the whole name was an alias. The important thing was that he was an enforcer for the Loan Shark Department, and also did some business on the side.

"The target is named Cornelius Snow, an employee of the Gamesmasters," said Tom Tenor, "and I want him terminated with extreme prejudice."

"I've heard of him," said Jack Ken, "but he seems to be hidden away. He's rather unpopular at the moment."

"I know. I was able to pay a tipster to give me his location. He spends his nights in Room 666 at the Gamesmaster Headquarters, during the Games."

"Very well. He will be dead within twenty-four hours, and untraceable to you. That will be 1000 sesterces, in cash."

Tom took the bills out of his pocket. Ideally, he should be holding on to them to pay his debts. But his funds would be insufficient either way, so he might as well expend the money this way and take Snow down with him, in revenge for changing the odds so that they were no longer in his favor.

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Jack Ken stood in the hallway of the sixth floor of the Gamesmaster Headquarters, disguised as a guard. He had gotten into room 666 and spread the poison as a thin film on the surfaces of the furniture. Snow would breathe it over an hour. By the time he actually began feeling its effects, it would be too late. Jack Ken knew that a lesser assassin would have fled the area and tried to establish an alibi. But he was determined to hang around and make sure that the job was done.

He wouldn't have done this for a mere 1000 sesterces, of course. But there were dozens of people who wanted Snow dead, for ruining the Games odds and their bets. He had collected the same amount from each, and it added up to a hefty sum.

Now. The door of 666 was wrenched open from the inside, The occupant staggered out into the hallway, grasping at his throat. He collapsed after only a few steps.

The victim did not fit the description of Coriolanus Snow. In fact Jack Ken recognized him perfectly well. It was the current President of Panem!

As people gathered around the autocrat trying to administer medical attention, Jack Ken reassessed his position. He had no idea what the President was doing in Mr. Snow's room, but that was in the past. He had to worry about his future.

He would be able to escape after a normal assassination, but not the death of a President. The Peacekeepers would go all out to catch the killer, maybe even torturing citizens of the Capital with the same cruelty that they used on people of the Districts. They would trace it to Jack Ken, and make sure that he died horribly. Unless Jack Ken was already dead.

Jack Ken had brought along a gun to fit his disguise as a guard. There was at least one bullet in it. He pointed the gun at the side of his head, and pulled the trigger.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The real Coriolanus Snow stood at the back of the crowd surrounding the dead President, looking as shocked and grieved as he could. By impersonating a seedy tipster and giving Tom Tenor the President's secret room number, pretending that it belonged to the mysterious Mr. Snow, he had gotten the President assassinated. He didn't think the Peacekeepers would track him down. To find him they would have to track through Jack Ken Hagar ( now dead with his brains blown out, a few meters away) then Tom Tenor (probably hiding from his creditors), then his tipster, and figure out that the tipster was the real Snow. Four degrees of separation. Not bloody likely. And Snow was one step closer to the Presidency of Panem.

TO BE CONTINUED

 _(NOTE: The name Jack Ken Hagar is a pun on Jaqen H'ghar, the professional assassin in GAME OF THRONES.)_

 _(NOTE: I would like to praise fanfiction writer Oisin55. Chapter 45 of his story VICTOR PROJECT, focusing on the sleazy gambling culture generated by the Hunger Games, gave me the idea for this chapter.)_


	12. Meditations

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 12 Meditations**

 _ **Who controls the present controls the past.**_

 _ **Who controls the past controls the future.**_

 _ **\- George Orwell, 1984**_

"ATTENTION, TRIBUTES!"

"OUR ILLUSTRIOUS PRESIDENT HAS JUST PASSED AWAY. PLEASE OBSERVE A MOMENT OF SILENCE IN HIS HONOR."

The National Anthem, Horn of Plenty, began to play.

Sean didn't care whether the President was dead or not. He was, after all, the official who ultimately presided over the Hunger Games and was threatening Sean's life. It would be nice if the Capitol decided to suspend the Games in the President's honor, but Sean doubted that would happen.

Sean and Diana had moved into one of the still-lighted nodes near the origin, and he looked at the girl, wondering whether she was thinking the same thing he was. He had known her less than two days, yet circumstances had forged a more powerful bond with her than he had with nearly anybody back in District 12. But discussing the President's death frankly would be impossible. They were under continual surveillance and any rebellious statement might be punished even if he survived the Games. Diana still had her knife, which could be used to carve a short message into furniture, but was not suitable for nuanced conversation.

Sean was starting to be aware how much information was simply held beyond his reach. The Rebellion had taken place 25 years ago and the Capitol had been in charge ever since. The Capitol had also ruled, less ruthlessly, for 50 years before the rebellion. Sean was just 15 years old, and had been educated in a system designed by the Capitol. He was quite aware of the fact that one purpose of the system was NOT to teach certain things.

The schools would have you think that the current system of lawmaking and law enforcement had been in effect throughout history, and that the Capitol had just adapted it to Keeping the Peace. But in District 12 Sean knew a man named David Everdeen who was 80 years old now and claimed to remember things being different when he was young. People could vote for lawmakers, just as they voted for tributes in this Quarter Quell. There was a ban on "cruel and unusual punishment", but it wasn't clear how that was defined. Punishing the next generation for a parent's crime was considered wrong, though of course if parents were arrested then a child could be left living in poverty.

Sean wasn't sure how dependable Everdeen's memories were, but even if they were perfectly accurate they wouldn't last much longer. Everdeen was 80, in a District where the very air was polluted from all the mining. Once he died, there would be nobody left to dispute the Capitol version from personal knowledge.

BOOM. And, a few minutes later, two more BOOMs.

"Three more deaths together?" asked Sean. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," said Diana. "Maybe a bloody fight with 3 people, or Gamemaker trick against a group. But if I've got the count right, that leaves just 3 of us in the arena. The two of us and one other."

She seemed to think deeply, and Sean could guess what she was thinking. Up to now her district partner had still been alive; his picture had not come up at night. Was he one of the three recent victims, or the only other survivor? If the latter, he might kill Sean faster than he would kill Diana. But then he would kill her anyway, to win the Games. Did a few minutes difference matter to Sean? He decided not to think of it. Try thinking of a way to survive.

"I have an idea," Sean said. "Let's go to the Cornucopia room. We know that the Careers are no longer there; we saw their pictures."

"Somebody else might have taken over," Diana said. "We'll stay in the darkness of the tunnel until we're sure it's clear."

"Good."

They started replacing their paths toward the starting point. Sean started brooding.

There was at least one novelty in Panem's legal system that didn't exist when David was a boy: the Hunger Games themselves. Even the Capitol admitted to that, by starting the numbering 25 years ago.

Two teenagers doomed each year, ignoring the chance that one of them might be a Victor. It didn't sound like much, compared to other ways of dying. More than that number died of disease each year, or died in the mines. But disease or the mines seemed like a force of nature, something you could study with statistics. Two teens killed in the Games were simply gratuitous.

David had seemed to remember a time when there were less deaths than now: better health, less accidents. But he could not remember statistics, and maybe that part of the past seemed rosier in his memory. But what if he was right? Why would the death rate be higher now? Poorer health care; less attention to mine safety? Both health care and the mines were government concerns. Could the Capitol be responsible for those deaths as well?

Maybe it was useless brooding on this. Chances were 1 out of 3 that he would be dead in a few hours, and his speculations would die with him.

The Cornucopia chamber was up ahead, and Sean concentrated on the current moment. "There's somebody there."

Diana peered. "It's my district partner, Bruce Wallenston. I'll talk to him. Will you promise not to kill him if I get a similar promise out of him?"

"Yeah. It's not like I WANT to kill anybody."

Diana went forward, holding her hands out to show that she had no weapons, leaving Sean in the darkness of the tunnel. She could not hear the actual conversation. Bruce held up a knife, but put it down after Diana spoke awhile. Eventually she waved to Sean, telling him that it was OK to come out.

It was an opportunity for a hearfelt discussion of the Games. Sean had been picked at random, Diana sent for a criminal action that she felt was justified. Bruce felt that he was guilty and deserving of punishment, but didn't think the Games were a proper penalty. But, once more, Sean felt it dangerous to discuss such subjects when the Capitol audience could here; he even pointed up toward possible microphones when the discussion got too serious. So they backed out and exchanged small talks about the different cultures of the districts.

At least there was one nice thing about the conversation. The Gamesmasters and people of the Capitol, who had expected bloody violence as the Games came to an end, must be getting bored stiff, which served them right.

Unforunately, there was something which they could do about it.

"ATTENTION TRIBUTES," said a familiar disembodied voice suddenly. "THE GAMES SEEM TO HAVE REACHED AN IMPASSE AND WE HAVE DECIDED TO INTERVENE. THE OXYGEN SUPPLY TO THE MAZE WILL BE CUT OFF AND, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, ALL OF YOU MUST LEAVE. ONLY ONE OF YOU WILL LEAVE ALIVE. WHICH ONE SURVIVES IS UP TO HOW WELL YOU FIGHT."

"MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR."

To be Continued


	13. The Reckoning

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 13 The Reckoning**

 _(NOTE: One fan wrote it to note that I had lost track of some character names during the recent long hiatus. They are fixed now)_

The trio stared at each other. There were weapons in the Cornucopia, but none of them made a move toward them.

"I hate this," said Diana. "They don't just send us into the Games to be killed, but they turn us into killers, without giving us time to redeem ourselves. I've already killed one person, the girl from 8. I don't want to kill anybody else."

"Don't feel guilty about that. You killed her to rescue me," assured Sean.

"I'm the only one who hurt somebody before being sent in here," said Bruce. "So I guess I should be punished."

"It isn't PUNISHMENT," rejoined Sean. "If they had whipped you or hanged you, I guess that would be punishment. Sending you into the Games was entertainment."

They heard a noise, or rather the absence of a noise. The air had been turned off. Diana didn't know how long the remaining oxygen would last, but with three of them breathing in, probably not more than an hour. "So what do we do now?" she groaned.

Sean thought over it. "I don't see how more than one of us can survive. The Gamesmakers have too much control over the situation. So three possibilities. We do nothing, and sit here until we suffocate. But it'll be a horrible way to go; I've heard about miners dying after a cave-in cut off their air. Or we fight the way they want us to, and let the best fighter win. Or we draw lots to determine who the victor will be."

"I'm not going to kill anybody, even if I win the lottery," declared Diana.

"Then I'll kill myself, if I lose," responded Sean calmly. "I saw how Arianna did it. Quick stab in the heart, almost instant death, little pain."

"I can't think of a better way than the lottery," muttered Bruce reluctantly. "How should we go about it?"

Sean looked around the Cornucopia area. When he finally spoke, his voice was amazingly calm. Maybe considering the logistics of a suicide pact helped distract him from the sheer horror of it. "We two guys will withdraw into a tunnel where we can't watch. Diana will form three bundles from the Cornucopia supplies, two with knives, one without. We come back in and choose two of the bundles and Diana will get the third. Whichever two of us gets the knives will - well, use them."

"All right," said Bruce miserably.

Diana desperately tried to think of another idea, but could come up with nothing.

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Sean went first, and picked a bundle with a knife.

He solemnly lifted up the knife and stared at a wall. "I know that you are watching me, in the Capitol and the Districts. Bear witness that I am doing this under duress. May a day come, when the people of Panem will put an end to the Games." He stabbed himself in the chest, and fell.

Diana looked down at his dead body and sobbed. Meanwhile Bruce walked up to the two remaining bundles.

"You could put this off a while " hinted Diana. "We're breathing less oxygen."

"No. I've psyched myself up for this. If I wait, I may panic." He picked up a bundle, and found the second knife.

Like Sean he made a speech, but of a very different order. "Rose, I hope you're watching. I want you to know that I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I-I don't know how to say so any better than that." He stabbed himself, and screamed as he collapsed. Apparently he hadn't aimed the knife as cleanly as Sean had.

Diana watched in horror at the dead boy and dying boy. She wouldn't have to kill herself, but surviving wasn't fair. There were other knives around, and she picked up one.

"NO!" bellowed out Bruce. "You won - odds in your favor. LIVE." With that, he died.

Diana screamed, and didn't stop even when the Gamesmasters came to remove her from the arena, as the Victor of the First Quarter Quell.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	14. Snow's Evaluation

**A Games Unlike Any Other**

 **Chapter 14 Snow's Evaluation**

" _I am nothing if not critical" - Iago in Shakespeare's OTHELLO._

"This year's Games were rather unsatisfactory," commented Coriolanus Snow.

His complaint was ostensibly addressed to the Chief Gamesmaster, who was sitting uncomfortably at the other end of the table. But the real target was the new President of Panem, Philemon Philippe, who was sitting at the side ostensibly as an "observer".

"Penelope Thread told me about your concerns about the electoral procedures," said the President," and of course there was the scandal about the nature of the arena leaking out. Do you have other complaints?"

"About food. Of course the Gamesmasters are supposed to allow the tributes to obtain food somehow in the arena, even without sponsors , but it's usually in the form of wild plants and animals. Not in the form of square meals, complete with silverware!"

"The challenge was in FINDING the food," the Chief Gamesmaster said. "As it turned out, only two groups found the food. Diana exploring alone, and Sean and Arianna as a team. As for supplying a real dinner, I thought that would be an entertaining novelty."

"I think we should allow the Chief discretion here," said the President. "Anything else?"

"The nature of the final melee. In normal Games, it's a violent fight to the death. Entertaining to the audience, but it also serves to present the representatives of the Districts as capable of savage, animal violence. This year they actually had a civilized conversation, and some savants of the Capitol were rather impressed. We're not supposed to present the tributes as the embodiment of civilization."

This time the President answered directly. "The Gamesmasters can hardly control the reactions of the tributes to a situation. It is unfortunate that this year's conclusion raised rather a lot of sympathy in the Capitol, but we've told the media to limit the number of times the final melee will be broadcast. Eventually it will be forgotten."

"You know best," Snow said silkily. "One more thing. Miss Farmer has, of course, been granted a Victory Mansion in District 7. But reports say that she is sharing it with rather a lot of people. Her "gang", who only a month ago were given severe public floggings to teach people not to break the law. Miss Agatha Katelin, who was the victim of an unfortunately mistake by District 7's Peacekeepers. Miss Rose Buck, whose only qualification seems to be that she was nearly raped by the late Bruce Wallenston."

"I'm the GAMESMASTER," said the Chief. "I'm not responsible for what the Victor does with her winnings."

"I think the relevant phrase here is 'To the Victor belongs the spoils'," said the President.

"Maybe. But it may be dangerous to let a Victor, who already has extreme prestige, to share her bounty like this. It could give her a lot of power in a poor community."

"We'll monitor the situation," said the President. "Is that it?"

"Oh, yes," said Snow. "I only wanted to express my concerns." The records of the meeting would look as if he offered certain observations to the Chief Gamesmaster and new President, and had been rebuffed. But Snow knew that there were people out there who were not particularly fond of either the Chief or the President. If things went wrong in the future, they might remember Snow as a man who offered clear-eyed criticisms, and deserved attention.

Someday, Snow thought as he exited the office, he might be in charge of a Quarter Quell himself. And things would be very different.

THE END


End file.
